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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27445084">The Typhoon</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrFish/pseuds/DrFish'>DrFish</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>To Belong [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Boats and Ships, Creation Myth, Developing Relationship, Hurricanes &amp; Typhoons, Islands, M/M, Mythical Beings &amp; Creatures, Ocean, OctoJohn, Protective John, Separation Anxiety, Stranded, Touching, meeting new people</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:33:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,872</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27445084</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrFish/pseuds/DrFish</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A great storm approaches and John does what he must to keep Sherlock safe.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>To Belong [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1912822</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sherlock clutched the gunnel of the canoe with both hands as he leaned into the sea spray and vomited into the ocean. The waves seemed to get bigger by the minute and the bow of the small boat rose higher and higher, only to crash back down into the trough of the next wave. He spit once more into the water, doing his best to rid the taste of stomach acid from his tongue. He looked back towards the stern to where John was a shifting mass beneath the surface, his many strong tentacles stroking through the water to push the canoe through the angry seas. The only part of the great creature above water were his muscled human arms and sturdy hands where they gripped the sides of the hull.</p>
<p>Sherlock leaned back from the side of the boat and returned his focus to the multiple verdant peaks of the neighbor island. He could feel the adrenaline pulsing through his veins, his muscles quivering and weak. Breathe in. Breathe out. He clutched his collection of scientific notebooks, wrapped in a heavy linen shirt, against his chest with one arm and held tight to the side of the canoe with the other. The sky was dark, despite that it could not be much past midday, and a strong and steady warm wind blew from an unusual direction. Another wave broke over the bow, spraying Sherlock with more salt water which ran down his already wet chest to join the sloshing puddle in the bottom of the canoe.</p>
<p>*****</p>
<p>Sherlock had woken that morning to a pleasant breeze and the great relief of seeing his friend resting in the shallows alongside where he slept beneath his sailcloth canopy. </p>
<p>John seemed more nervous than usual, carrying a certain energy that made the atmosphere somewhat uncomfortable. Sherlock chocked it up to residual awkwardness from their tense exchange the evening before. John had been rather rough in his treatment of Sherlock, and the human had several circular red markings on his chest and neck to show for it. They were just burst blood vessels beneath the skin where John's suckers had gripped too firmly, there was no pain, Sherlock was not angry. He knew John felt remorse for it, as evidenced by the way his octopod eyes glanced down more than was customary when they sat together on the beach. </p>
<p>Their morning had proceeded normally until John left to attend to some errand. A gentle rain began to fall and the sound of the drops falling on Sherlock's sailcloth roof were so soothing that he indulged in a late morning nap.</p>
<p>Sherlock was roused from sleep by wet hands bracing at his shoulders. He opened his eyes to see John towering over him, his octopod eyes dark with anxiety. He hoisted Sherlock from his bed so quickly that Sherlock was momentarily dizzy, and carried him straight to the water where he placed him in a canoe. The craft Sherlock found himself sitting in was quite a bit larger than the last that John brought to him. It was outfitted with a single outrigger and multiple seats so it would fit at least 6 men.</p>
<p>Sherlock watched in confusion as John returned to Sherlock's grass hut, his eight massive tentacles sliding gracefully over the sand to carry the bulk of his sea creature body. After partially disappearing into the hut and rummaging through Sherlock's belongings, he returned with several scientific notebooks which he wrapped in sailor's clothes and then thrust into Sherlocks hands. He also held out a pair of breeches to Sherlock. After Sherlock took them, John made the sign for 'clothes', then pointed to Sherlock before making the sign for 'clothes' again. The unlikely friends still suffered from a bit of a language barrier, but it seemed apparent that John wanted him to dress. Sherlock was, of course, completely naked as neither the elements nor any sense of modesty were usually sufficient to keep him clothed. But on this occasion, Sherlock complied, stepped into the tattered breeches, and reseated himself in the canoe.  </p>
<p>The rain had stopped but the winds had picked up and Sherlock could see white waves breaking beyond the reef. Without as much as the opportunity to look back at his home, John slid back into the sea, pulling the canoe along with him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sherlock had surmised that a great storm was coming and John was bringing him to the Island People. The intense sea sickness and severity of the pending weather considerably dampened the enthusiasm he would have otherwise felt at finally being brought back to see the Islanders.</p><p>The waves finally subsided as John maneuvered the boat, now half swamped, into the lagoon and farther into the shallows. Without fanfare, John beached the canoe and they were immediately approached by a group of 5 women, all middle-aged, clad only in cloths around their waists. Sherlock climbed on wobbly legs from the boat into the knee-deep water and looked towards John with uncertainty. </p><p>John took Sherlock into a firm but brief embrace. With both hands on the sides of Sherlock's head, he touched their foreheads together, allowing Sherlock the opportunity to momentarily savor the smell of John's skin: sea salt and freshly fallen ocean rain. Then, abruptly, John pushed him away into the hands of the patiently waiting women and Sherlock glimpsed the conflicted look in his friend's eyes. Quiet panic gripped Sherlock's chest as he watched John quickly turn and lunge back into the sea, disappearing beneath the rain speckled surface of the strangely placid lagoon. Sherlock wanted to yell, to go after his friend. He would swim out into the deep water and John would certainly return, holding him in the safety of his tentacles as he always did. But Sherlock did not go after John, he remained frozen where he stood, surrounded by these strange women. He watched as the dark form moved away from shore beneath the clear waters until it disappeared in the distance. John had left him behind.</p><p>Events proceeded quickly after that. Sherlock was lead up amongst the palm trees and covered verandas to where more women were preparing parcels and baskets. The atmosphere was tense and somber, the women paying only brief attention to Sherlock before returning to focus on their tasks. Groups of men, none paying any mind to Sherlock, bundled away sections of houses and various goods, lashing them tightly to trees. There were far fewer people than Sherlock had seen during his first visit. Of the perhaps hundred villagers, only a dozen men and women remained, working diligently around him. The unfamiliar language swirled between them and no one addressed Sherlock, but he did receive several reassuring smiles here and there. A heavy basket was placed in his arms and he was urged along with the group as they disembarked up the side of the mountain.</p><p>It was a challenging climb and Sherlock's heart was beating hard in his chest as they finally reached a craggy rock face where an opening at least 10 yards wide led to an expansive cave inside the mountain. Sherlock was led into the cave where groups of people sat around fires, the smoke rising high to the ceiling of the great cavern. It seemed the great majority of the people had come together here and formed small gatherings of women and men, separately, with children of all ages among them. Continuing deep into the cave, the women accompanying Sherlock indicated him to sit with a group of 15 or so women and children who were gathered in the darkness around the flickering flames of a fire burning in a small barrel-shaped terra cotta stove. After depositing the heavy bundle on the ground at the edge of the circle, he sat facing the fire with his back against it. He still held the parcel containing the notebooks in his lap.</p><p>Sherlock timidly regarded his new company. They smiled welcomingly at him and spoke several words, but then returned to conversation among themselves. As with the group at the beach, he was surrounded by women of all ages, from near girls to old women, grey and wrinkled. Many sat with small children on their laps or infants clutched at their breasts. They all had the darkly colored skin, heavy build, and black hair that characterized the inhabitants of the island.</p><p>"Hello," a cheerful voice spoke from next to him.</p><p>Surprised, Sherlock turned to regard the face of the woman who had so unexpectedly just greeted him. She was perhaps 30 years old, her once pale skin tanned, and her petite features framed by dark brown hair that had been bleached by the sun. Her face was half-lit by the fire as she turned to face Sherlock. She had kind, brown eyes, a pleasant smile, and she cradled a very young baby boy sleeping in her arms.</p><p>"Hello," she repeated. "My name is Molly."</p><p>"Hello," Sherlock replied then opened and closed his mouth a few times in confusion. Molly giggled at his awkwardness. "You're English?" he finally asked.</p><p>"Yes." She smiled and shifted the infant, looking back to the fire so that her friendly face was fully illuminated. "I was bound for Australia when... I... came here instead. It's been several years now. This is my child, Nikau. Hau and Kai are also my children, they are sitting over there with their aunties."</p><p>Sherlock looked across the circle to where two young children- perhaps 3 and 5 years old, sat giggling with the other women before he returned his attention to Molly.</p><p>"Oh... You have a husband, then?" Immediately he chided himself for being so forward. It had been so long since he had a conversation with someone, his old social awkwardness, especially when speaking with a lady, was back in full force.</p><p>Molly did not seem bothered. "Yes, his name is Tangaroa, he is a fisherman."</p><p>"I see..."</p><p>Just then, a young girl approached Molly and spoke to her in the native's language, she responded then the child gleefully returned to the old lady she had been sitting with.</p><p>"You speak their language?"</p><p>"Of course, as I said, I've been here quite some time."</p><p>Sherlock remembered how John seemed to understand the village elder who spoke to him on their first visit. It was almost too perfect. Sherlock had found an Englishwoman who spoke John's language! He had so many questions, but was hesitant to speak impetuously to a lady.</p><p>"I visited your village once before, did you see me then?"</p><p>"No, it was about the time this child was born. I heard of you, though, you belong to Wh'an. He is our brother."</p><p>Sherlock looked away from Molly's open face and focused on the fire. Belonged to John? <em>Oh</em>. The marks on his chest and neck must have been quite visible even in the dim light. He could feel his cheeks coloring. John was their brother?</p><p>"Can you tell me more about Wh'an?"</p><p>The conversation amongst the circle had died down and many of the women and children now openly stole glances at Sherlock as Molly began to speak.</p><p>"A long time ago, Sea Mother and her husband, Sky Father, made this island, which we call Uluwehi. They made many islands, including our neighbor island and 7 more that can be journeyed to in boats. Together, they created the people that live on the islands. They made great mountains under the sea, that rise near the surface and provide bountiful home for the creatures of the ocean. Sky Father went away and Sea Mother was lonely. She fell in love with an octopus and they had a child, Wh'an. Wh'an protects his family from the foreigners who come here."</p><p>Sherlock processed that information. "Are there others like Wh'an?"</p><p>Molly looked surprised by the question. "Others? No, there are no others. He is... unique."</p><p>Sherlock reflected on this for some moments, it was sad, but seemed to confirm the impression that he had of his friend. Kind and caring, fierce when necessary, but <em>alone</em>.</p><p>"And you say I belong to him?"</p><p>"Yes, that is why you mustn't sit with the men."</p><p>"Alright..." Sherlock responded. He was feeling a little confused. How could these people know about the mythical beings that created them? Did Molly really believe it? Was he truly special to John? John, who held such a place in the lives and creation myths of the society he now found himself in. Was Sherlock really that special? The thought brought a lightness to his stomach, but also made his separation from John all the more poignant.</p><p>"Have there been others that 'belonged' to Wh'an before?"</p><p>Molly frowned. "I do not know. Perhaps I will speak with my grandma, but it is rude to ask so many questions about Sea Brother."</p><p>Feeling chastised, Sherlock looked back towards the fire. "I apologize, but thank you for telling me so much. I am very curious by nature, I meant no disrespect."</p><p>"You're welcome," Molly replied with a smile. They sat in companionable silence for several minutes and the conversation of the others in the group slowly built to the previous levels. It was quiet in the cave, save for the collection of voices, and the sounds of the storm raging outside.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The hours flowed by, the children coming and going. They took interest in Sherlock, asking his name, what work he did, and what his family was like. Molly taught him several phrases that he spoke with the children, answering their questions with her help, and was met with smiles and giggles. He was given a grass mat to sit on, which was much more comfortable then the rough floor of the cave. The air was cool and dry, but the fire was kept high enough to keep him warm. He was shown to the women's privy, a small area with a low ceiling off the main cavern, where he visited several times to relieve himself into a clay chamber pot. He would have preferred to go outside, but it seemed against the rules for him to leave the cave or venture far from his circle. </p><p>Sherlock alternately spoke with Molly and sat quietly, at one point even napping for a short time. When asked by one of the children what he had in his bundle of belongings, he showed her his notebooks. John had taken them all and even included a writing pencil that had been closed between the pages. How fortuitous, Sherlock realized, as he could write down each word that Molly taught him together with the English translation. He was very good at learning languages, but this would allow him to expand his vocabulary with even more efficiency. </p><p>Sherlock found Molly was easy to speak with. She was friendly and patient. She described with some detail her past and the events that brought her to the island. She came from a modest family in Cornwall and served as governess and companion to the children of a wealthy widower who had frequent business dealings in London. Her father became sick with brain disease and her employer generously supported her while she cared for him during his long illness. When her father eventually passed, she returned to live at her benefactor's estate, but the children had all grown and left for school, and she was very lonely and wanted a family of her own. Reluctant to remain a burden on the kind widower, she accepted a marriage proposal from a young business associate of his. Her new husband was very successful, yet not as respectable as she had been led to believe at the time of her betrothal. After less than a year of unhappy married life, they left London for prospects in New South Wales. </p><p>But Molly never arrived in Australia. The merchant sailing ship was rocked by a great shock and caught fire in the night. She had been hurried into a lifeboat but was thrown from it in the melee. As she was swept farther away from the blazing ship, yelling in vain for aid, she had been certain she would drown. Instead, she was saved as Sherlock had been: stolen from death by the tentacles of a mighty sea beast. However, whereas Sherlock had woken to find himself alone, Molly was left on the shores of the Islander's village. She was received with great welcome and jubilation and soon took a husband, had 3 children, and found happiness among them.</p><p>Sherlock listened attentively as Molly described the Islanders' customs and the details of her daily life. He learned they placed great importance on making offerings to Wh'an. They left special foods, flowers, ropes, fabrics, and occasionally traded goods from the sailing ships. The bounty of sail cloth that Sherlock had used to build his shelter had been a special gift. The offerings were always placed in a canoe and left at the point of land east of the village before sunrise.</p><p>It felt like a near eternity for the storm to finally pass, but even then, most of the women he was with stayed. As many men and women began to leave, Molly explained that they must remain in the cave until the rains stopped and the rushing streams calmed. He learned that the people regularly fared such storms and they always persevered with careful preparation and much work and rebuilding once the storm passed.</p><p>At last Sherlock emerged from the cave and began the careful journey down the slippery slopes of the great hill. The winds and rain were gone and the hot sun beat down, causing great waves of moisture to rise from the dampened landscape. The devastation of the forest was modest, but when they arrived at the village, he was taken aback to see that most of the houses and all but the largest veranda had been washed out to sea. The people were not deterred. They worked steadily clearing away the sand and flotsam, salvaging materials, and harvesting palm branches from the upland forests. </p><p>Sherlock understood that his home had likely been swept away by the storm as well. His sailcloth roof and small round hut would be gone. His meager possessions: the knife and dissection implements, the oil lamp, and his flintstones were certainly lost.</p><p>Sherlock tried his best not to worry over the loss of his material possessions, instead he thought of John. John would come back for him and take him away again. They would build another home together.</p><p>*****</p><p>Two more days passed that Sherlock spent with the Island People. He missed John terribly and tried not to show his sadness and disappointment that John had not come back for him yet. He did his best to learn as much as he could. He learned many dozens of words and phrases from Molly and practiced speaking with the women. He expressed gratitude to them for keeping him safe and he did his best to help them in their work rebuilding what the storm had taken away. He learned their ways of preparing food and weaving grasses into matts and crafting a cloth they called kapa from plant fibers. He watched the men rebuild houses from a distance, noting how they carefully wove and twisted the coconut fiber ropes between many layers of palms and grasses.</p><p>In the pre-dawn darkness of the third morning, Sherlock was woken from his bed where he had been staying beneath a makeshift lean-to with several of the elder ladies. Molly, Nikau cradled at her breast, led Sherlock along the beach to the point east of the village where the offerings to Wh'an were left. Sherlock wore the short kapa cloth kilt-like garment around his waist that was customary for the men. He carried with him his bundle of scientific notebooks, now filled with words and phrases of the Island People's language. In the first hints of morning twilight, he could see a canoe at the water's edge. It was large with one long outrigger, similar or identical to the craft he had arrived in. </p><p>Molly stopped just several feet from the canoe and turned to Sherlock. "I will leave you here for Wh'an. Take good care and be well."</p><p>It was difficult for Sherlock to say goodbye to Molly, as a small part of him dreaded returning to the solitude of life on the neighbor island.</p><p>"Thank you, Molly, I am glad to have met you. I am grateful to your people for welcoming me and I hope I can come back and see you soon."</p><p>"I am glad to have met you, Sherlock," she said as she reached up to embrace him. Nikau squealed in evident delight at the gesture. "If Wh'an chooses, he will bring you back to us and I will be thankful. The elders say we will celebrate then."</p><p>Molly looked to the sea, the pre-dawn light still dim on the horizon. "I must go now, and return to the village before the sun rises." With one last gentle smile, she turned and left, and did not look back.</p><p>Sherlock watched until her form was no longer visible against the shadows of the palms along the shore. Now he was alone for the first time in so many days. He felt the solitude of the dark and strange beach. </p><p>Turning back to the ocean he saw the unique silhouette that he had grown so fond of. John's broad shoulders emerged from the calm waters, and Sherlock thought he surely had been there waiting for him below the water's surface all along. Without as much as a thought, Sherlock dropped his bundle of notebooks into the canoe and ran to John, gleefully splashing down into the water with his arms outstretched. He had looked forward to their reunion for many days, and finally, he found himself swept up in the strong arms of the benevolent sea creature. He hugged tight around John's neck and felt the tentacles rise to support his weight and keep him mostly dry from the sea. </p><p>John stroked Sherlock's cheeks and chest with his human hands. His suckers moved along his back, gently touching and reacquainting himself with the human after his long absence. The slender tip of one tentacle reached into the garment and pulled it free from Sherlock's waist. Without interference from the scratchy artificial barrier between him and the warm skin of his friend, Octopoda was free to hold Sherlock as close as he wanted. In any other situation, the gesture would have seemed sexual, but this was different. John needed tactile information and took great comfort from the physical contact as much as Sherlock needed to tell John what was in his heart.</p><p>Sherlock sat contentedly in John's arms for several more minutes, his head resting on John's shoulder. As the first rays of the rising sun streaked the sky, Sherlock pushed back so he could see John's silver-rimmed octopod eyes in the twilight. There was so much he wanted to talk about with John, so much he wanted to tell him. Quietly, with no reservation, he spoke the phrases in John's language as he had learned them from Molly.</p><p>
  <em>I love you. I belong to you. Take me home.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Please note: The story Molly tells of how the islands were created is loosely based on the activities of Papahanaumoku (Earth Mother) and Wakea (Sky Father) who were responsible for many creations, though not always with each other. Their children include the Hawaiian Islands, some of the Hawaiian people, and kalo, which is a very important food staple. There are other Hawaiian creation mythologies, but Papahanaumoku and Wakea are my favorite.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/drfish">Come visit me on Tumblr!!!</a>
</p></blockquote></div></div>
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